What are you, Sweetling?
by IPut a-SpellOnYou15
Summary: "What are you, Sweetling?" He asked her.'What' indeed. A monster?A treasure?An outcast? No one knew what to make of the girl King Joffrey captured on his hunting, and it would take a honeyed tongue of deception to decode her, someone that spins lies for pleasure; who knows a human mind better than itself; someone with grey-green eyes that didn't smile when his mouth did. Petyr/Oc
1. Chapter 1

**_This is my first Game of Thrones Fanfiction. Please tell me what you think, what you like etc. Um...Oh! I know some things may seem off, unrealistic and perhaps OOC, but things will be explained in later chapters! I promise. Enjoy and thank you for reading c: Oh! A special thank you to my new Beta, A Rooster Illusion!You're brilliant!  
_**

**_Disclaimer:I own nothing, other than my OC and additional plots._**

**_CHAPTER 1_**

"Council! I demand your presence in the throne room. _Immediately_!"

The small council gazed at the golden haired boy; as he burst through the double doors, his entourage of guards trailing behind him, they had been in the middle of a deep discussion about Stannis's advancing attack on the city. But it was Lord Tyrion that felt the heat of debate fizzle out, another chance at organizing battle gone he thought sighing heavily.

The little man looked up at his majesty. "You're Grace. We are in the middle of discussing the well-being of Kings landing, we cannot-" he tried to say.

"Shut up, imp! I didn't say you could speak. Now, all of you come to the throne room. I have something to show." With that, he left the room.

The council shared a silent look, no one saying a word. And there were no words needed, they were all thinking the same thing:_ What does the brat want now?_

* * *

The throne room was full of noble ladies and lords, all were wondering what was going on, "Look at what I have caught on my hunt. My people, gaze upon my _prize_." Young king Joffrey wore an obnoxiously nauseating smirk upon his lips as he sat upon the Iron Throne. In his maroon gloved hands, he held a girl.

Her hair, to be exact. She was coated in grime; rags hung around her; her hair was matted with twigs and looked to have once been long, but was burnt off to just above her jaw; one would think she was a Wildling, if it weren't for her tears. Where Joffrey had discovered this little monstrosity was beyond all in the throne room.

The cunning eyes of Lord Baelish flickered to the boy, as did Varys; the hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister, looked up from his hushed conversation of battle with right hand man, Bronn; from high above.

Lady Sansa Stark gazed over the stone railing to see her king; Queen Regent, Cersei, craned her head to see the "Great catch".

A deafening thwack echoed through the stone room, rattling the bones of any standing within it. The girl let out a soul dampening whimper as she was thrown down the stone steps, to the tiled floor. Joffrey connected his hands flat together in stroking strikes, as though he was trying to rid himself of her accumulated filth.

"I found this _beast_!" He directed his head down in disgust - and pride for himself- to the wild girl, "When I was aiming for a great horned buck, but just as I let lose my arrow, she got in the way." There was a pulse of murmurs in the hall.

"Show my council your wound!" He commanded.

Nothing but silence issued from the disposed bundle on the floor. Anyone could see that she was weakened, her long limbs held little power to stabilize her.

"Show them!" Joffrey cried with a childish ring.

She didn't move, her head only sank further down.

"I am the _King_! I _own you_! I _command_ you to show how I have maimed you!" Joffrey's scream rang in the ears of all around.

Slowly, her head ascended to look. But her shoulders started shaking with agonized laughter. A pained smile pulled at her cracked lips, small streams of blood poured from the crevices.

However, her laughter did not cease, causing the little king to scamper an inch or two back into his throne. Then, she stood-to the best of her ability.

Just as the king had said, there was a large arrow straight through her thigh, the feathered end snapped from her being thrown down.

"That's right you little _beast_! You will obey my every word. You know, I made her walk behind my horse as we rode back, after she tried to escape from my men and I. Did you really think you could escape me? Besides...you might actually have use here." He said.

The King did not cease his infernal jabs of condescending cruelty, but just as everyone though he had finally finished, he paused, and then added one last statement. "Though I doubt it."

The eyes in the Throne room were wide, all breathe held, that is, all except one.

The face of curious intrigue belonged to Lord Petyr Baelish. A clever, honey-tongued man that had eyes and ears scattered through the city, ensuring the common statement told in Kings landing, "Trust no one."

Now, he was not a sympathetic man, by any account, but he knew when to pay attention and where he may profit and excel. This girl, she was worth paying attention to; no doubt in his mind stirred, telling him that she was just a waif that he needn't worry about.

His face remained stoic and steel; the perfect mask that went so well with his attributes, but his mind was a war of thought provoked storms. _There is a_ _wound in her leg, yet she stands with planted feet; mocking the king with what strength she has left. This young woman was not what she presented herself to be. Perfect_.

This shall not be easily done, but with the mischievous care he carried with himself for the right time. Much like him, she wore an untouchable mask, one that he would like to learn and, in time, remove.

However with all things considered, despite her uniqueness, she would be taken in, be it as a prize or for a place to heal, she would be caged. From her ghostly white exterior, to the curious markings on and around her ankles and hands, she resembled something unearthly; like a ghost.

All was interesting about this girl, indeed, but that was her fall. She would be analysed; tortured; have her truths pried from her grasp and exposed. But it was not her peculiarity of her supernatural state of being that truly enraptured the court, that day. It was her eyes that peaked the king's court's interest; they were the same composition as the Mad King's blood; one scarlet, the other royal purple, and both dancing with fire.

**Thanks for reading!:) Please leave a review if you can!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am updating from my ipod...so please bare with me!**

**I own nothing, just my own ideas in this story! Enjoy chapter 2 c:**

_Chapter 2_

The warming water of a bath stung the wild girl's wounds. Gentle hisses sounded from her, but she made no complaint when the lady servants began to cleanse her. This certain task was not a particularly pleasant job, as it consisted of coaxing the grime out of her scalp and delicate skin, but a command from His Majesty they didn't dare disobey.

_***Four and a half hours before***_

Finally, the king was satisfied with the disgusted gasps from the mass crowd; her arrow wound was red from both blood and incubating infection. A woman in the front fainted, landing unceremoniously on the hard floor.

"Now then, someone clean this mess up! I want to see what this waif looks like without all this filth." Joffrey tossed her to the nearest lady servant.

No one saw the flash of a snarl pass over Little finger's collected features, not an eye caught the slight extra anger that filled the Hound's body for a moment, and no one cared to see the flinch from the traitor's red haired daughter, Sansa. This child was strange, special even, and she did not deserve to be stepped on.

_***Present***_

Brown sludge coated the rim of the tub once she was fully cleaned. Then, she was draped in a simple dress; the top had two small straps of light sheer fabric, falling into two layers of cloth overlapping in the front, and meeting at her small waist. There were layered fabrics of sheer, lace and some with more weight, with lengths differing from the next, all consisting of shades of light tea stain. To finish her newly presentable look, was a light brown belt slipped around her middle, ensuring no "show" of her private regions.

As she stood in front of the room's mirror, a gasp escaped her blossom pink lips. Never in her life had she sees herself clean and groomed to what could pass as beautiful; she was truly quite frightened by her reflection. Her hair was cut shorter and left to fall in a light swoop, just an inch above her large eyes, dirt that had been scraped away, produced pale skin, with numerous scattered scars of different sources. The arrow wound had been cleaned and bound, and despite her will to decline help of walking, she needed it.

Suddenly, there was a jerking rap on the small wooden door, silencing the girl's thoughts and the maid's fussing.

"His Majesty the King commands your presence at once in the throne hall, girl." Someone gruffly ordered.

The girl looked to her lady helpers for confirmation. Surly the king wouldn't want to flaunt her and shame her mind this night? After she had just been captured and disgraced already? Unless he wished to roast and serve her like a wild boar. Both women gave her a nod, her eyes only widened further.

"Child, please, you must go. If you don't, the King will set his guards on you!" The lady on the left cried to her quietly; a shiver passed though the woman, but the girl caught onto what she did not say. R***, beating and if she was lucky, death.

With one reluctantly resolved nod to her lady maids, the girl limped to the door. The handle of the door was stiff and unfamiliar under her hands as they had never truly know what it was like to dwell in a fully furnished home. Outside in the hall, stood a scar-faced man, with height that dwarfed her. To almost anyone he would be a nightmare come to reality, the flesh on half his face was mauled and warped to pink scars and deformations, his murky brown hair tossed over on side of his head to cover a portion of his wound, and eyes that listed for blood. However, despite this, looking up at him, she grinned slightly.

"What is your name?" She asked nervously and quietly, hoping to make an acquaintance in the King's guard. That would help her if she ever had a chance to get away.

The man flicked his brooding gaze down to her, "They call me Hound." He ground out after a moment.

Not exactly what she wanted, "But w-what is your real name?" she pressed cautiously. They began their journey to the dining hall, her hand on Hound's arm for balance. Her eyes did not tear from his face, not once: his cindered flesh held no fear for her, not this little beast. As they descended through the unending halls, the grand oak doors loomed far too close and approached them far too quick for the girl's liking. Her steps became more unwilling, and slower, but her Hound simply dragged her forward.

At the doors, she stared dead ahead, like her gaze was trying to see through to the other side of the door. The small, bony arms around Hound's were stiff and unmoving; this girl was petrified. She felt the air around her change, and a lock of unfamiliar dark hair tickled her shoulder.

"My name...is Sandor Clegane, _girl_.

But it would do you good to forget it."

A fragile smile etched itself upon her face, she nodded.

Hound's large hand pushed the doors open, a very noticeable screech and whine came from the aging wood. As the petite girl was guided in by Sandor, all was silent; not a human spoke, but all eyes were trained on her. Feeling all the eyes on her, she shrank further to the knight next to her, but to no avail.

"Release her, Dog. Now, I present to you my entire prize." Joffrey boasted his arm sweeping over her form like it was a gold trophy. Her shoulders squeezed closer together in discomfort. "Now, girl, I command you to tell me your name."

The porcelain girl made no move to obey. She was at the front of the crowd, standing a meter from the castle's lords and ladies. Now that she was closer, Lord Baelish could see her clearly from his standing place; she was a young girl with creamy skin and peach colouring, hair whiter than a Targaryen's and eyes sharp as a needle. Take away all grime, she was remarkably beautiful. Then, quicker than his own silver tongue, her eyes flew to his gaze. In that one look, the lord could see a beg for help, determination and something he couldn't detect.

The little king bristled at her silence and was about to snap at her when a soft scrape of a shoe echoed through the hall; shattering all quiet contemplation.

A gentle arm rested lightly on her back guiding her closer to the Iron Throne. She looked up and saw a short plump man draped in yellow robes, a mock understanding mask of emotion on his rounded face.

"What is your name?" He asked her gently.

A crease formed in between her light eyebrows, and a worried expression twisted her fine features. A few moments passed, until finally...

"Eirie..."

If he hadn't been listening, he wouldn't have heard her response.

"Eirie, I am Lord Varys. May I tell His Grace your name?" No one in the court room could hear the conversation, and that was starting to fill Joffrey's pants with fire ants.

"Well? What's she saying?" The golden-head demanded childishly.

The girl nodded to Lord Varys, "She says her name is Eirie, your Majesty. Though I do not believe she enjoys speaking." He added carefully.

To her right side, Lord Baelish let out a playful chuckle, to which he received a tiny smile from Eirie, though his laugh was so quiet.

"Well? What else?! What can she do? I don't want a boring beast sitting in my castle!" The boy in a crown spat.

Varys' mouth pursed turning his head to the thin girl's delicate ear, "Do you have any...talents, Eirie?"

A look of utter terror froze Eirie's face, but quietly slipped away, another emotion flashed, but it was so quick, no one saw it.

"I-I can sing, Lord Varys."

"Your grace, she can-"

"Shut up. I want to hear her speak; your voice is getting on my nerves." King Joffrey said dismissively, waving Lord Varys off; leaving Eirie to stand alone once more.

"Y-your grace, I can sing."

A signature smirk oozed onto Joffrey's face, "And sing you shall."

**A/N: reviews are welcomed:)**


	3. Chapter 3

_Good day! I'm really sorry about the short chappie, but I hope it's alright:) updates might be a bit slower due to evil school and tests and ...ya. But I hope to get a couple more chapters up in the next couple weeks, so please bare with me!_ _Thank you to those who have followed my story:) it means a lot!_Ok_ I'm done. Enjoy my lovelies, and don't forget to comment if you can!_

Disclaimer:I own nothing, only my plots and Oc:)

_CHAPTER 3_

"DOG! WHEN YOU'RE _QUITE_ FINISHED TAKING THE GIRL TO HER CONFINEMENT, I _DEMAND_ YOU RETURN AT _ONCE_."The wail of Joffrey reached the ears of Hound and Eirie through the stone walls of the corridor.

It seemed that even with such and intriguing captive, the king grew bored with her brewing presence. Much like an unruly pet, Eirie was bound. A series of chains were attached to her limbs, thoroughly trapping her; one shackle clasped around her neck, connecting to her wrists by two small -but powerful- chains. From there, two other chains ran down her legs to connect to the shackles that resided there. By the time Eirie was fully bound, she looked truly like a prisoner, not a prize or treasure. A fish without a pond, a lion in a cage, a dragon without fire.

* * *

As the two descended further-albeit unwillingly from Eirie's side- and further into the catacombs of Kingslanding castle, windows shrank into stone, air became stale and thin. Before long, they arrived at a small door, well door being a loose term in this instance; iron bars ran across the frame vertically, creating a cell likeness to the room. Inside, there was a small window -large enough to see out, but potentially too small to slip through- a simple cot along with a thin fabric resembling a blanket and a chamber pot. Eirie grimaced in recognition, confusion, despair and grief.

The door opened with a sickening screech, "Get in there girl," The Hound positively growled out, " And don't think of escaping either. I'll be back later."

"No!" She cried and stumbled into the room, tripping over her chains," Y-You can't do this..." Her attempts at bettering her situation fell on no ears; the Hound had already gone, along the majority of day light.

"**_PLEASE_**!" She yanked at the bars in hopes that there was a flaw and subsequently an escape; she attemted to squeeze through the darkening window, but to no avail. She was trapped. Eirie was a toy, a play thing for the king. The small girl could only listen to the sleepy streets below her and the laughter high above.

"...Please..."

Curling up in the opposite corner of her cot, Eirie kept watch of the corridor outside the barred door. _How could this have happened to me? _She thought desperately. _Not one night ago, I had been carefully living the freedom I know...but then...then the boy simply had to take aim at my prey. All these years, I was never found...how could i have been so mindless? _Her eyelids began to droop, until the gentle hand of sleep led her beyond reality and into a dream world.

* * *

Petyr Baelish descended the stone steps into the catacombs of Kingslanding as soon as he found himself able to. Annoyance and anger brewed in him for the past three and a half hours, as it was at today's small council meeting that King Joffrey did boast of the little prize. However, it was not the fact that he was, in fact, boasting, but rather what the exact subject matter of which the boasting alluded to; the disgraceful treatment of the girl he had caged. "_That stupid boy couldn't see the rare creature he had in his grasp if it bit him in the arse_," The lord thought and he grew closer to Eirie; the girl that had been brought to Kingslanding not five days prior,"_I thought the colour of her eyes might have been enough of a hint that she should be ...treasured."_

Shadows grew in the winding halls as the daylight diminished, but regardless of the light, Petyr knew his way. Just like he did with any place, and just like he hoped to learn his way around the oddity that got closer as he stalked lower and lower to her cell. Normally, Lord Petyr Baelish was not known for showing any act of kindness nor compassion towards any the king's prisoners, ( nor any resident of Kingslanding for that fact) but this girl was not the norm of society. Not by any circumstance.

Gradually, his steps slowed to a careful walk as Petyr approached the cell number he had acquired from his hawk-like hearing. One after another, each cell passed, until finally, he found it. The last confinement that had a window and could pass as a room. There she was, huddled in the farthest corner. If he hadn't trusted his ears and eyes so much, he would have told anyone that he was gazing at a wild beast found only in the most unpleasant reaches of Westeros.

"Oh my darling girl, what have we done to you?"

_A/N:Awe. Poor Eirie :c Reviews are wonderful:)) _


End file.
